“Who brought Lord Lynborough’s letter?” asked the Marchesa.
“I don’t know who it is, your Excellency—one of the upper servants at the Castle, I think.”
“How did he come to the house?”
“By the drive—from the south gate—I believe, your Excellency.”
“I’m glad of that,” she declared, looking positively dangerous. “Tell him to go back the same way, and not by the—by what Lord Lynborough chooses to call ‘Beach Path.’ Here’s a letter for him to take.”
“Very good, your Excellency.” The butler received the letter and withdrew.
“Yes,” said Lady Norah, “rather funny he should call it Beach Path, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know whether it’s funny or not, Norah, but I do know that I don’t care what he calls it. He may call it Piccadilly if he likes, but it’s my path all the same.” As she spoke she looked, somewhat defiantly, at Mr Stillford.
Violet Dufaure, whose delicate frame held an indomitable and indeed pugnacious spirit, appealed to Stillford; “Can’t Helena have him taken up if he trespasses?”
“Well, hardly, Miss Dufaure. The remedy would lie in the civil courts.”